Page 53 of Fatal Scheme

I’m struggling to keep a straight face, but the orgasm sweeps me into a rip current, tossing me around like a beach ball lost at sea, and Tyson pulls my head into his chest just as the tears fall down my cheeks, a visible reaction to the powerful surge rolling through my body at an unrelenting pace.

“Tyson, turn it off. Please, please, please,” I beg, my words getting caught in my throat while the aftershocks nearly paralyze my body, and I realize how terribly I failed at being incognito.

“You did so good, baby girl,” he whispers into my hair, but I shake my head, unable to stop the emotional reaction.

“I completely fell apart,” I whine, finally able to take a deep breath once he turns the settings down, leaving me with a barely-there buzzing between my legs.

“That’s exactly what I wanted.” He smirks, like he’s freakin’ proud of himself, but when I catch that sparkle in his eye, all I want is to keep doing good for him, to please him beyond what he expects of me.

“Take me home? I couldn’t possibly eat in these conditions.” I motion toward my legs, my panties absolutely wrecked from the orgasms I’ve succumbed to over the last few hours.

I’ve begged for less, but Tyson immediately concedes, motioning for the waitress to wrap our food up before it even hits the table, and I swear, I’ve never seen a human look more relieved.

Within minutes, our sandwiches are tucked in to-go boxes, the check delivered at the same time, and Tyson doesn’t even look at it, dropping a crisp blue Benjamin on the table as he escorts me out of the restaurant like he just won the lottery.

The way he acts unfazed by everyone else’s discomfort is admirable, one of the only attitudes that I don’t possess, as I always find ways to critique the way I present myself to others and how they judge me.

It’s my fatal flaw, looking for approval from every person I meet, but tonight made me open my eyes, realizing that what one waitress thinks won’t make or break me, destroy my relationship, or have any fucking bearing on the way I choose to live my life.

Sometimes I believe that Tyson has hard-wired straight into my brain, on a mission to eliminate the bad thoughts that live there and replace them with the positivity he sees within me, something I can honestly say nobody has ever tapped into.

I’m playing a dangerous fucking game, tethering the line between who I was when I arrived at Emory, and the person I’ve become in only a short few months, but I’ve never felt more like myself, and I owe it all to the forbidden boys who morphed from my targets, to the people I’d protect with my life.

TWENTY-FIVE

JASPER

It’s been three hours.

I’m pacing like a tiger in a fucking zoo, ready to claw my way out of the confines just to find Carter, to have her in my eyesight.

Ever since the moment I met her at the Row Party, she’s barely been out of my view, always a few minutes away, but tonight, being kept in the dark is almost like torture, except I’d give whatever the fuck it took to see her, even if only for a few seconds.

My sassy little demon princess is out on a date with another man – my best friend – but all I want is her back in my arms, even if only to confirm that she’s alive, breathing, and ready to rip out my organs for worrying about her too much.

I’ve resisted the urge to call her, but just as I give into the itch, she stumbles through the door, Tyson right behind her as she literally looks like she’s been to war and back.

Her heels are in Ty’s hands, her face is streaked with makeup, and her clothes completely in disarray, the exact opposite of the way she left earlier tonight.

Without thinking, I step straight to him, looking into his eyes as I let the rage that’s been brewing out on the only person I’ve ever truly thought of as family.

“What the fuck did you do to her?” I scream, about ready to rip his head off his body, but Carter steps between us, her soft hands caressing my cheeks, forcing me to look down into her eyes.

“I’m fine, Jasper. But I really need something from you,” she whispers, her soft voice easing the anger I felt deep in my bones only a few short moments ago.

“Anything, Principessina,” I say, wrapping my arms around her, not wanting to let her go after being deprived of her touch for what felt like years.

“Bend me over that table and fuck me until I can’t stand,” she purrs, luring me directly into her trap with the voice of a sex-kitten, and I eat it right up.

“You want me to wreck your perfect little pussy?”

“Please, Jasper. I need you,” she begs, and I nearly fall apart in her arms, the unmistakable consent one of the hottest things that has come out of her mouth.

In a split second I spin her around, pushing until her hips crash into the table, and her ass is perfectly positioned for me.

Rather than wasting time, I lift her skirt, swiping her lacy panties to the side, but revealing a black toy lodged into her pussy, and I swear, my life flashes before my eyes.

“Is this what I think it is?” I ask, feeling the wetness pool around my fingers as I push the toy in further, her body writhing against the table at the slightest touch.